CHAPTER 45 HIP （EPONYMOUS） POOR BOY
HIP (EPONYMOUS)POOR BOY
Caleb
Phoenix peered down the corridor even though his office was too far to be able to see the receptionist’s desk. “Caleb’s here?” he asked, confused.
“You want me to tell him you’re busy?” Liv asked, one hand over the mouthpiece of her phone.
“Remind me again. I’ve got a two o’clock, right?”
Glancing at her computer screen, Liv nodded. “Right.”
“Send him in.”
Caleb arrived at the heels of the office receptionist, toting a paper bag.
The receptionist warily eyed his scowl, black jacket, jeans and untied combat boots. She shifted nervously.
“Oh my gawd,” she said, “will this snow ever end?” She stopped snapping her gum long enough to flash her wide, perfectly bleached-white teeth.
Caleb grunted and strode towards Phoenix. The receptionist turned and slouched back towards her spot in the waiting area.
Phoenix stepped out of his doorway to greet Caleb with a brief one-armed hug. “Hey. This is a rare and pleasant surprise.”
He turned to Liv. “Caleb, you remember my executive assistant, Liv? Liv, you’ve met my brother Caleb.”
They shook hands. Caleb deigned a quick “Hey,” then pointed at Phoenix’s office, situated behind Liv’s desk. “Should we sit in there?”
“By all means,” Phoenix said, leading the way. He indicated two swivel chairs adjacent to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Midtown.
Caleb waited for the door to shut behind them and joined his brother, plopping the bag onto the low table between the chairs.
He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair, where it promptly slid off the slick plastic surface.
Caleb left it, sinking into the chair and leaning forward to open the paper sack.
Rich, meaty odors emitted from the oil-spotted bag.
“Hungry?” Caleb asked.
The smells triggered the feeling that it was lunch time. Phoenix nodded. “Two Boots, nice. It reminds me of you sneaking food into my hospital room.”
“Rules mean shit,” Caleb said, dumping the contents of the delicious-smelling bag onto the table.
“C’mon, we’re in an ad agency. No clichés allowed.”
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Breaded chicken, catfish po’boy, or meatball parm? Or are those too cliché for lunch?”
“Touché. I’ll take the chicken, if you don’t mind.”
Caleb pushed one wrapped sandwich towards his brother and opened another for himself.
“Thanks,” Phoenix said, peeling back the paper and taking a bite of the dense white roll compressed around lettuce and still-hot chicken breast.
Caleb looked through the glass wall toward the row of offices stretching down the corridor back to the reception area.
He swallowed a bite of meatball sub and wiped his mouth with a brown paper napkin.
“I still can’t believe you made this place.
Look at that,” he said, pointing towards Liv with his sandwich-clutched hand. “You have a secretary.”
“Executive assistant,” Phoenix corrected. “You did the same. Built a business. Different product, same principles.”
“It’s not the same. I don’t have a secretary,” Caleb said, chewing while studying Liv typing rapidly.
“I’ll send her to your place for a day. She’ll scare away your clients with her efficiency,” he said, laughing. He finished one corner of his meal and rolled up the other portion inside its waxed paper wrap.
“Is half enough?” Caleb asked, eying the leftover food.
“Half a guy, half a sandwich,” Phoenix said. The image hit him in the gut. He shook his head to clear it. “So, what are you doing here?”
Caleb ignored the question and glanced down. “How’s all that going? How’re you feelin’?”
Protective shield up high for the workday, Phoenix didn’t feel like heading straight for vulnerability. He hated these questions and the implied pity that went with them.
“I’m okay. You?”
“Yeah, I’m decent,” he said, balling up his empty wrapper and arcing it into a wastebasket. “I saw Orchid again.”
“You did? She okay?” Phoenix pictured the gash above her hazel eyes. He’d thought to send flowers and a note after her accident. Peonies were her favorite. But there was no point.
“Yeah, she came into the shop.”
“With her fear of needles, I doubt it was to get a tattoo.” On the heels of pleasant memories came one of her staring at his residual limb on the day she claimed she’d learned about his injury.
“She came in to ask about you. She was clueless about your accident.”
“So what?”
“Sounds like you wronged her big time.”
“I was going through some shit, if you remember.”
“Come to think of it, guess I was pretty shitty to her too.”
“I don’t want to talk about Orchid,” Phoenix said, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got to prep for a meeting.”
Caleb shrugged. “No skin off my back. But I thought you guys would’ve been good together.”
Phoenix plopped back onto the chair and ran a hand through his hair. “Yup, I thought we would’ve, too. That whole thing blows.”
“Maybe she’s changed? Maybe she just needed a minute to get used to the idea?”
“Since when did you become a Orchid supporter?”
“She’s got feelings for you. She wants to talk.”
“Last time I saw her, she called a little cut on her forehead hideous. She said she was disfigured. I can’t imagine how disgusted she’d be over my scars.”
“Seriously, man. Who you trying to protect? Her? Or you?”
Some truth in that question struck him. He wanted to believe in his altruistic intentions in keeping her at bay. It didn’t have to do with his own fear of rejection. She wouldn’t be able to deal.
Phoenix rose from his chair, anger over injuries he thought he’d accepted. His face flushed. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about this.” He strode to his desk and slammed a drawer open, pulling bound papers from it.
“You’re throwing away a good thing,” Caleb said, standing.
“Then you go out with her,” Phoenix said, glaring at his brother.
“I think I will,” he said, and pushed his way out the door. “Bye, Liv,” he called over his shoulder.
How can Caleb have such a different interpretation of what’s possible? Phoenix thought.